If I subscribed to the idea of themes for seasons, mine for Summer 2007 would be simplicity. The most visible part of that is my being on a sort of health kick. I had never really cared enough to do conscious stuff that moved me toward health and wellness, but now that it is starting to develop into a habit I kinda like it. I hit the gym four or five days a week, make conscious, healthy choices about what I eat, I drink fruit smoothies with that soy protein stuff that is supposed to make me less hungry (that hasn't yet), along with a few other things.

I'm taking the diet thing outside the kitchen, too. I don't have any sort of TV connection in my apartment and, in fact, my old 1991 TV has laid down on me as well. So I am without TV in every sense of the word. No movies, TV shows on DVD, concert DVD's, none of that. And I have certainly noticed the void in my day that its absence leaves. Not that I was all much a serious TV watcher anyway, short of my couple of "appointment shows," but with the amount of free time this summer has presented (up until last Monday, when Hebrew started in earnest) had I had cable that no doubt would have been my preferred way of wasting time. Without it though, I'm fine.

Since my world has slowed down and I've moved to a quieter place (which is pretty far from all my buddies down in Dallas) I have taken the time to think a lot about my personal life and the habits I've developed. I have a strong belief that God is the author of all the good that we as people become, and that as Christians the inner work God's Spirit is always doing within is something we neglect only to our loss.

Well, I really didn't worry with things like that all that much this past year (or even these past few years, to be honest), but this summer a lot of gears of that sort have started turning in my soul. If you don't mind, I'm going to read to you a quote from the book I'm reading most mornings now. (This is from page 26, for those of you playing along at home.)

"In 'Teaching a Stone to Talk,' a collection of meditations on nature and human meanings, Annie Dillard remarks on how we also underestimate the power of God. Comparing Christians to brainless tourists 'on a packaged tour of the Absolute,' she wonders whether any one of us while at worship has 'the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke.' The churches are as if 'children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning.' And we wear straw hats and velvet hats to church, when 'we should all be wearing crash helmets' and the 'ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares.'"

Once in a while when I'm blitzing through a book, something jumps out and kills my merry page turning rhythm. That quote did it this morning.

Now I don't have a clue how to correct what bothers Annie Dillard so much, but I'm pretty sure I saw the cat she was talking about in my mirror early this morning.

I've been noticing for some time now the disconnect between the depth of the lyrics in the songs sung at church and the level of joy, or gladness, or even simple emotion, that I see in the folks singing them. If the lyrics to the songs we are singing, pasted there on the PowerPoint before us, are TRUE, and we really MEAN them, then what explains the dissonance between what we AFFIRM in singing those songs and how we really, truly ARE in reality? I've got an idea, and judging by the quote above I don't think this is all that specific to just me.

Here are some solutions (feel free to pick and choose):

Quit mindlessly listening to praise and worship music. Quit listening even to say, the Christian music station (even though it and only it plays music that is Positive and Encouraging for the Whole Family™). Think of it as a diet.

Be a little more discerning about some of the Christian books you're reading. (Here's a rough test: if they'll sell it at Wal-Mart, you might be able to do better.) Give your faith a workout and get a biography on Churchill, or Lincoln, or heck, the NFL, and try and spot God's hand in those events (you didn't think He was awake just in the Old Testament or in Acts, did you?)

When you pray, only pray what you really, consciously mean. (You'll no doubt be surprised at how much more time you have, and your family will probably love you for it.) Don't go to church every time the doors are open.

When you put in time with Christian friends, become conscious of cliches and throwaway statements that you don't really mean or didn't really think about before you said. (Don't tell someone you're praying for them if, well, you aren't and won't be.)

Pay attention, conscious, active attention, to what friends and family say in conversation. Do the work of making them know you care.

I went to a funeral today and found it quite profound. I don't make all that many funerals and I don't think I'll start, for a lot of the same reasons that concern me above. The law of diminishing returns is in play everywhere I look these days, and the finality of death, the somberness of someone's record on earth *stopping*, well, I don't want the returns of that reflection to diminish any time soon.

And I'd rather it stay that way, the same way I'd rather my times of listening to worship music, reading non-school God books and praying keep their power. Far too many formerly profound things in my world are now background noise (sort of like the opening act at most concerts). Work on some of that and I'm convinced that, and as my new friend Sam Cooke would say, it's been a long time comin', but a change is gonna come.

I for one am pretty excited. I got a lot of stupid stuff I'm carrying around that it's due time to drop. Knowing you, I suspect you do too.

© Dixon J. Parnell, 2007.